


Love, Trust and Other Wartime Casualties

by BellaBabe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, F/M, First War, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic AU, Marauders, Post-Hogwarts, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23256436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaBabe/pseuds/BellaBabe
Summary: “Full moon?” Sirius asks, realizing he doesn’t actually know.Remus looks at him oddly.“You know you were always the most attentive. James was too carefree, too unburdened and Peter too forgetful… but you, you always knew.”It’s a well placed blow and it leaves Sirius breathless.“Things change I guess.” Remus says softly.“I’m here now.” Sirius can taste the lie on his tongue. Remus hums noncommittally and pours them more tea.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 358





	Love, Trust and Other Wartime Casualties

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Love, Trust and Other Wartime Casualties](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970301) by [wolfuckingstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfuckingstar/pseuds/wolfuckingstar)



> Brief mention of suicidal thoughts.

Lily worries at the thin cotton t-shirt stretched over her growing bump. James sits ramrod straight beside her, hand clasped tightly in hers as Moody lays out the specifics of some long term Order surveillance detail. Sirius watches the way Lily leans into James and the absent minded way he traces patterns into her skin. His gaze flicks to Remus through the window, drowning in the shadows at the far end of the Tonks’ property. Smoke curls around Remus, his thin jumper fluttering in the wind. 

Remus has been run ragged by war. Malnourishment, unemployment and the slow debilitating lycanthropy have worn away at the quiet unassuming boy who used to wreak his own kind of havoc barefoot and featherlight in the dormitory corridors. 

Sirius had noted the change, watched from his peripheral as Remus withered away under the stress. Remus comes back from Order missions with nicotine stained fingers and hollow cheeks. The details of the mission have been obscured from the rest of them. Remus had simply nodded at Dumbledore after the last Order meeting and then disappeared for two weeks.

Remus turns at Sirius’ approach, smiles tightly and returns to staring up at the sky. The full moon is in a week. The Marauders have not been together for a full moon in over six months. 

“James and I are going to the Three Broomsticks.” Sirius shrugs, “for old times sake.” Not quite an invitation, but Sirius leaves it open ended enough to be interpreted as such. 

“You guys have your fun.” Remus takes a long drag from his cigarette, nonchalant in a way he could never pull off in school. 

The silence stretches, becomes a tangible thing, awkward and self imposed. How have they been reduced to this, two men basking in their shared youth but strangers in adulthood? There was a time, not too long ago mind you, that Sirius would have sworn on his uncle Alphard’s grave that the Marauders would be everlasting. 

A foolish brand of childhood naivety, believing that the bonds of adolescence could trump the difficulties of adulthood. Sirius returns to the warmth of the small cottage and watches as Remus is reduced to a shadowy figure and the muted glow of a cigarette under the waning evening light. 

…

Remus is in between jobs when they next meet, on the corner of some lesser known cobbled street in London. Sirius has just exited a muggle grocery store and catches sight of Remus rounding the corner. Sirius glances up at the garish lettering of the pawn shop. 

“Want lunch?” Sirius says in lieu of hello. Tired of the inconsistencies of war and searching, maybe, for the familiar. Remus nods with a slow blink. 

Sirius tries not to notice how reverently Remus holds his mug, how his hands shake imperceptibly as he reaches for the menu. 

“I’ve been away. Up in the Shetland Isles.”

“Scotland?” Sirius hopes his surprise comes across as polite curiosity. 

“Lots of land, isolated. Less of a risk for us.” _Us_ , Sirius thinks and then dismisses it promptly. Remus had always spoken of his furry little problem with a weariness which bordered on bitterness. Sirius clutches his mug tightly.

“I’ve been meaning to floo.” Sirius says, a white lie he has never regretted as much as he does now. 

Remus does not look hopeful or saddened, instead the heavyweight of his stare betrays something like acceptance.

“Of course, Pads.” 

They finish their teas and part ways with stilted goodbyes. 

…

After coming home from work there is little else for Sirius to do other than work and sleep. Occasionally visiting with James and Peter on weekends but mostly there are long nights of solitude. Sirius and an empty flat which reeks of the city and leftover takeout. 

He thinks, crazily, about flooing Remus. James, he knows, sees Remus at the pub some nights when Remus takes a last minute shift, but it’s less and less common these days. Lily barely ever leaves the house anymore and Peter is tending to an ailing relative and occupied with a low level ministry position. The ease with which the war has upheaved their lives and relationships can be blamed, Sirius admits shamefully, only on themselves. 

James stops going to the pub to see Remus sometime around Lily’s third trimester. Caught up in some high level ministry case which requires the aid of even the newest auror recruits, Sirius doesn’t notice at first. Sirius asks him about Remus, chillingly offhand as he usually does, and James eyes shift to Lily. The glance is almost unnoticeable. James is a seasoned veteran of the bold faced lie, a necessity when confronted with McGonagall's unwavering stare, but Sirius knows him a touch too well for it to work. 

“Ah, I see.” Sirius says. It’s not reproachful. 

“I’m just being cautious. Keeping an eye out is all.” James is serious in ways that Sirius thought they would have avoided until they had gone old and gray, if then. 

He tells Sirius to be careful, be wary, as if Sirius hadn’t spent the better part of the last two months guiltily dodging Remus’ floo calls and indulging too much to forget the pain of betraying one’s friends. 

Betraying in the deepest most intimate way, not with actions, brash and messy, but with the sincere belief and accompanying thought. So complete is his betrayal that he begs off joining Remus and Peter on their rare nights out, knowing his thoughts will be evident in his forced laughter and uneasy looks. 

…

Sometime in May Sirius seeks Remus out, driven by a desperate curiosity and insatiable desire to see Remus, his concerned frowns and rough fingers laced with scars. He knows where Lyall and Hope lived. Where they had lived for the better part of the last fifteen years. Remembers sticky summers in their backyard, a ramshackle treehouse enough to woo a twelve year old into daring mud-filled adventures. Remus lives alone with the ghosts of his parents now. 

When Remus answers the door it’s with his wand subtly tucked in his sleeve. 

“What did you say to me our third year after you rigged our dungbomb prank?”

“Pete will finally take a shower now.”

Remus waves Sirius in and sets the kettle boiling with no preamble. 

“What brings you here Sirius?” Sirius can’t remember the last time Remus called him by his first name and not some weird abbreviation of Padfoot or an undaunted taunt. 

“Just stopping by.” The words sound stale even to his own ears.

“Biscuit?” Sirius nods just to give Remus something to do. 

“How is everyone?”

“You haven’t–” Sirius cuts himself off in frustration. Remus looks at him keenly.

“You know I haven’t.” Remus whispers like a confession. Sirius counts the freckles dotting Remus’ nose, traces the bow of his lips and the scar on his cheek with his eyes. Something familiar and warm sparks in him.

“I just wanted to stop by.” Siris repeats helplessly. 

“Okay.” Remus says, then “I miss you.” 

The words sound as if they’ve been wrenched out of him, unbidden. Sirius knows this tiny show of weakness is the only one Remus will allow himself. The house creaks under the weight of an oncoming storm and Sirius feels as if the draft has seeped in and robbed the breath from his lungs. Remus averts his gaze and plays with the seam of his sleeve. 

“I should go.” Sirius breathes. 

“Of course.” Remus’ expression shutters. 

Sirius apparates before Remus has shut the door behind him. 

…

James, Lily and Sirius are sprawled across the living room at the Potters' new home in Godric’s Hollow, dinner forgotten in favour of amusing a two month old Harry gurgling on the floor. Lily is crankily sipping on some sort of bubbly beverage which serves as an unwanted reminder of her self-imposed sobriety. They talk about anything but the war. Idle gossip about friends and Sirius’ job, stories from Hogwarts that have them chuckling quietly, torn between amusement and dejection.

“I haven’t seen him since May.” James admits. No one asks who, they all know who he’s referring to. 

“He’s–” Sirius thinks of the drafty house, chipped mugs and defeated slump of Remus’ shoulders, “Remus.” 

“It’s hard to believe we’ve resorted to this.” Lily intones sadly, her arms cradling Harry. James kisses her forehead. 

“I’m going to go see him again.” Sirius doesn’t realise until that moment that he’d always intended to. 

“I miss him.” James says savagely, almost guiltily. Sirius startles, hears the soft words as they fell from Remus’ lips only a fortnight ago and excuses himself. He finds himself in the kitchen staring unseeingly at the fridge, intention to get another drink forgotten. The bright lights and cold tiles do nothing to shock Sirius out of his haze. 

“Is everything alright?” Lily asks as she passes the kitchen on her way to Harry’s nursery. She turns Sirius towards her, hands warm and steady on his shoulders. 

“I miss him too.” Sirius confesses as he buries his nose into Lily’s hair. Her small frame is dwarfed by his larger one but he clings to her desperately. 

“I know you do.” In her arms a sleepy Harry snuggles closer to her chest and emits a whine.

“I better–” Lily tilts her head towards the nursery. 

“I’ll do it.” Sirius offers

“Are you sure?” Sirius looks towards the living room.

“I’m not ready to go back in yet.” Lily smiles gratefully and hands the sleeping baby over with ease. 

“It won’t be forever.” Lily says softly as she places a kiss on his cheek and sweeps out of the room. 

“Hey Harry.” Sirius whispers as he makes his way up the stairs. “You have the best mommy and daddy you know that?” Harry gurgles at him happily, tugging at the wisps that have fallen out of Sirius’ unkempt bun.

“They love each other so much you know. They love you so much.” Sirius smiles softly. 

“Think anyone would love me like that?”

Harry makes a sleepy snorting sound.

Sirius sighs,“Yeah.”

…

“Hi.” Sirius is sopping wet, hair clinging to his face, cheeks red from the cold. Remus waves him in and offers him a cuppa. Sirius shakes the water out of his hair in an uncanny imitation of Padfoot. Remus turns to hide the quirk of his lips.

Sirius has been over three times in the past month. More visits than all of the Marauders combined in the past three months. Remus never inquires about the nature of these visits. Never asks why Sirius has chosen to visit him at odd and inopportune times. But he knows.

Gone is the easy familiarity which had inhabited their interactions at Hogwarts. Instead conversation lulls awkwardly and they avoid talking about anything personal. Sirius has no idea what job Remus keeps, if he even has one. Remus never asks about Sirius’ life, apart from the cursory inquiry about the other Marauders and Lily. 

When Remus sits down across from Sirius at the fold out table he winces ever so slightly. Remus’ mouvements are stilted, erring in their usual grace. Unnoticeable, maybe, to the untrained eye, but Sirius has spent years cataloging every bruise and scrape Remus has been the victim of. 

“Full moon?” Sirius asks, realizing he doesn’t actually know. He hasn’t kept track of the phases of the moon in months, other things pressing on his mind. He realises that he has the luxury of forgetting what had once been a staple of his adolescence. What had only ever been a favour to a friend, an exhaustive if exciting night in the throes of intricate transfiguration. 

Remus looks at him oddly.

“You know you were always the most attentive. James was too carefree, too unburdened and Peter too forgetful… but you, you always knew.”

It’s a well placed blow and it leaves Sirius breathless.

“Things change I guess.” Remus says softly. 

“I’m here now.” Sirius can taste the lie on his tongue. Remus hums noncommittally and pours them more tea.

…

Remus pries open the door warily, hand clasped over his right side, bandages shoddily taped against his ribs. Sirius pushes his way inside and shivers even once he’s made it into the foyer. He throws up a couple of hurried warming charms and quickly ignites a fire in the little used hearth. 

“What happened?” 

Remus is limping, probably from broken bones repaired incorrectly. 

“Bit of a scrape with a competing pack.”

Remus winces as he slowly lowers himself into one of the collapsable chairs. Sirius’s gaze scans him furtively, worriedly taking in the damage. The pale expanse of Remus’ chest is littered with faded scars, but there are some new ones too. Faded pinks and reds which Sirius had not been there for. 

The scar that cuts across Remus’ eyebrow is from a confrontation with Prongs on their first night in the shack. The scar that dips below Remus’ loose fitting jeans is from a particularly bad moon in their second year, before they knew about his lycanthropy. The scar that wraps itself around his forearm is the result of a badly placed dung bomb. 

The newest one marring Remus' chest is a particularly nasty one. Remus has tried to staunch the flow of blood but the bandage is steadily being soaked through. 

“Have you been to St. Mungo’s?” 

Remus shakes his head and curses when the motion pulls at a stitch on his shoulder blade. 

“Sit down.” Remus’ confusion does not abate until Sirius has pried the shabbily thrown together first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. 

“This isn’t necessary.” Remus says even as he lets Sirius peel back the bandaging. The wound is angry and raw, puckered around what looks like long claw marks. Remus hisses as the bandage gets caught on the wound. 

“You have to be more careful.” Sirius says as he applies the Essence of Dittany. 

Remus snorts, “What’s one more scar?” 

Sirius cups Remus’ jaw, tender and fragile. “One too many and you won’t make it to the end of this war.”

Remus’ gaze is directed out the window and he makes an aborted movement to wrap his arms around his midsection, a nervous habit which used to present itself before the full moons or difficult OWLs.

“Because I have so much to look forward to afterwards.” 

Sirius tilts Remus’ chin towards him and brushes his lips against his, nothing more than a featherlight touch. He pulls back and looks up at Remus from where he’s still crouching between Remus’ legs. 

“Be more careful.” Sirius whispers in the space between their mouths. 

Remus releases a helpless whine and pulls Sirius back up towards him. Their mouths crash together with ferocity, a stark contrast from that first kiss. Sirius scrambles up from the floor and Remus cups the back of his thighs so that Sirius can straddle him. Sirius feels the flimsy chair wobble under their combined weight but just then Remus places open mouthed kisses across the juncture of his neck and jawline and he forgets all about it. 

“Fuck.” Remus’ breathing is ragged and hot against Sirius’ collarbone. 

“Be more careful.” Sirius repeats, hands skimming Remus’ chest and eliciting shivers. Remus doesn’t acknowledge the words, instead he dislodges them from their precarious position and crowds Sirius against the kitchen counter.

“I want you to fuck me.” Remus says lowly, lips brushing the shell of Sirius’ ear. Remus rolls his hips slowly against Sirius’.

“Yes–Fuck yes.” Sirius’s breathing hitches with every careful press of Remus’ hips. Remus needs little more encouragement, they exchange one last bruising kiss before moving towards Remus’ room. They stumble towards the mattress on the floor, fumbling fingers and breathy moans. 

Sirius wakes up the next morning with his fingers like ice. The sheets barely keep away the chill and the bed is cold where Remus should be. Sirius collects his clothes with quiet haste and exits the room amid the creaking of the floorboards. He can hear Remus tinkering away in the kitchen, with what Sirius doesn’t know since the cupboards have been bare every time he’s been over. 

“Morning.” Sirius croaks as he enters the kitchen. It feels intimate, being here with the early morning sun streaming in. Remus is at the table with a newspaper and a mug of tea. He smiles a little sadly at Sirius’ unkempt hair and bare feet.

“You don’t have to stay. Your shoes are by the door.” Remus is cast in a soft glow, his movements slow and deliberate. 

Sirius’ stomach lurches. He shuts the door quietly behind him on his way out. 

…

Sirius comes back the next week and it takes all of ten minutes of painfully awkward small talk before Remus pins Sirius to the kitchen sink. Remus is quiet this time though, where the last time he had been all demands and searching hands. Sirius spends the early morning hours tracing the scars on Remus’ back and contemplating how he’d let things get this far. 

Sirius wakes first and scurries towards the kitchen in search of tea. He’s hungry but he can’t bear to eat anything out of Remus’ already barren cupboards. Remus wanders in not ten minutes later, startling when he sees Sirius at the kitchen table. Sirius pushes a mug towards Remus, tea kept warm with a charm. Something approaching a smile tugs at Remus’ lips. 

“Lily gave me the invisible cloak last week. Apparently, Prongs lost Harry under it.”

Remus snorts, sips his tea and chews on his bottom lip. 

“What–” Remus breaks off, “Does James know yet?”

“I reckon he thinks she hid it.”

“Crafty bint.” Remus laughs. 

… 

Remus is on his second cigarette, Sirius’ head pillowed on his chest. Sirius is rifling through a muggle poetry book with bemusement, reading aloud passages just to hear Remus’ berate him for ‘desecrating some of the most renown muggle poets.’ 

After Sirius butchers some bloke called Keats, Remus swipes the book from him and banishes him to the kitchen to find something to eat. Sirius grumbles but obeys nonetheless. Sirius looks over his shoulder to find Remus attempting to light a third cigarette. There's a painful tug right below his navel. 

_This is going to end badly_ , Sirius thinks savagely. Remus looks up then and smiles sweetly up at him. It's so reminiscent of Hogwarts Sirius' heart stutters. A thirteen year old stealing bacon off of Sirius’ plate and then feigning innocence with grease smeared on his chin.

 _Oh well_ , Sirius thinks and goes in search of food.

…

Remus deposits their plates in the sink. There are never dishes to be done when Sirius visits, though that’s probably an indicator of malnourishment and not cleanliness.

“You have to stop coming over.” Remus’ back is to him. Hands wrapped around the chipped porcelain sink. 

“Why?” Sirius recognizes that he has no right to pose this question, ask Remus to explain himself when he never has. 

“I can’t stand you being here. But not here–” Remus falters, then more quietly, “Here for me. With me.”

“I–” 

“If you want to know if I’m the fucking traitor there are better ways.” 

“That’s not why–” Sirius goes to get up from the table, hands outstretched. 

“You fucked me?” Remus snarls and laughs bitterly, hollowly. Sirius falters. 

Remus turns, scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m lonely but I’m not an idiot.” 

“I thought I could do this.” Remus waves between them, “Pretend.”

“That’s not what this is.” Sirius pleads. 

“Isn’t it? What are you doing here Sirius?” 

Sirius doesn’t have an answer that isn’t swathed in lies. 

“Please go.” Remus murmurs. 

“Moony–” Sirius realises his mistake a moment too late, recognizes the slip of the tongue. The familiar childhood nickname escaping him in desperation. Not once in all these months has he crossed that line, dragged the familiar into this new dangerous territory they’re navigating. 

A shudder runs through Remus and Sirius can see the muscles in his back contract as he draws himself to his full height. He faces Sirius, a last stand in front of the crippling emotions which have always plagued their interactions, even at Hogwarts, and nods towards the door. 

“Get the fuck out.” 

Sirius obeys. 

…

Sirius doesn’t go back to Remus’ after that night. He allows Remus the small amount of comfort Sirius’ absence can bring him. Instead Sirius throws himself into work, tackling Order missions with a single minded determination that has Moody nodding proudly and Dorcas giving him worried looks. 

He gets very little sleep and offers to take patrols at odd hours, allowing Ted to spend some time with his young daughter or Arthur to pick up some extra shifts at the ministry. He doesn’t see Remus’ at the continuously less frequent meetings but that doesn’t mean much given the sensitive nature of his missions. 

Sirius is outlining the schematics of several pureblood mansions, what he can do from memory, when Marlene bursts into her and Dorcas’ flat covered in blood, pale and shaking. There’s a flurry of Order activity and a barrage of unending questions. Dorcas’ hands are shaking so bad that Kingsley takes over administering first aid. 

“It’s not my blood.” Marlene says. 

“What the fuck happened?” Fabian Prewett interrupts. “It was a simple reconnaissance mission.” 

“Greyback showed up. He had Remus.” 

“What?” Sirius' heart rattles in his chest. 

“Apparently Remus had infiltrated one of Voldermort’s pack. Greyback recognized him.” 

“Where is he?”

“Wales. He’s staying at a safe house out there until it blows over.” Gideon says as he flutters over Marlene.

“Can I see him?” Dorcas and Marlene exchange an unreadable look. 

“You’ll have to ask Dumbledore.”

Sirius is slumped outside the flat, head cradled in his hands. He hears the door open and feels a warm body slide down beside him. A hand curls around his bicep. Dorcas doesn’t look at Sirius in his grief. 

“Remus insisted that his missions be solo because he feared you guys would try and follow. Said you’d always followed him places you shouldn’t go.” 

Dorcas smiles softly at him.

“He came to me in sixth year. I’d just started dating Marlene, God I miss the simplicity of those days. He asked how I knew that what we had was real, was worth something. I didn’t have an answer.” 

Now Dorcas turns to him and forces Sirius to make eye contact with her. “I think he already knew the answer.”

“I fucked it up.” Dorcas’ face doesn’t betray any pity and Sirius is glad for it. 

“He loved you. Even then. Even still.” Sirius knows this, in some distant detached way he’s always been aware that there was more to him and Remus then just friendship. 

“He deserved better.”

“I don’t believe that. But he also didn’t deserve whatever it is you did.” Sirius throws his head back and feels Dorcas pat his thigh before rejoining the others. 

… 

It’s mid September and Sirius stands in James’ father suit on a marshy hill overlooking the graveyard. Only a few friends and family cluster around the McKinnon family tomb, including a shaking Dorcas cradling Marlene’s too small Gryffindor sweater. Even now, with the burden of grief heavy on everyone’s shoulders, there is fear which causes discreet looks behind them and around corners, a careful choreography to their mouvements that betrays unease. 

Sirius stands alone at the edge of the procession. This is only one of the many funerals he has attended in the past few months, an accumulation of deaths, heroic and mundane, all the result of war. It’s been three months since Remus was brought to that safehouse in Wales. Three months and no word about the state of his health or of his missions. 

Dorcas is staying with Sirius, estranged from her family and incapable of returning to a flat which held the remains of the life her and Marlene had cobbled together. Sirius has already started boxing up Marlene’s stuff for Dorcas. Knick knacks and photographs that Dorcas can’t bear to look at but can’t bear to throw away. 

Sirius is awoken that night by his bedroom door opening. His wand is already pointed at the intruder before he registers Dorcas standing barefoot and teary eyed in pyjama shorts and Marlene’s sweater. 

“I’m not used to an empty bed.” Dorcas whimpers lowly. Sirius waves her in and she crawls into his bed gratefully, tucking herself against him. 

“Marlene snored like a tractor." Dorcas says softly, "Nothing I tried got her to stop. I didn’t want to use silencing charms because I liked hearing her beside me.” 

Dorcas is crying silently, tear tracks soaking Sirius’ t-shirt. 

“The first few weeks we lived together I would stay awake until exhaustion took over. I would be in such a horrible mood in the morning.” 

A watery chuckle. 

“But you know Marlene. She was always so cheerful come daylight. I sat across from her at breakfast, her ankle wrapped around mine while she cracked awful jokes and I forgot about the dark circles under my eyes.”

Sirius is ill equipped to offer her comfort, but he rubs soothing circles into her back and murmurs lies into the crown of her head. Dorcas falls asleep among ill concealed whimpers and by the time Sirius drifts off the tears have dried in uneven tracks across Dorcas’ cheeks. 

… 

Sirius thinks, belatedly and with no small amount of resignation, that of all the decisions he has made in his life, a far few of them ranging from incurring mildly to horribly alarming consequences, this is by far the worst. He stands on James’ stoop with a growing sense of foreboding as he hears James soft steps reach the door. 

James peers at him in bemusement, “Why did Lily curse my hair blue in fifth year?” 

“You went out with Mary MacDonald. And it was green.”

James sheathes his wand and waves him in, “What happened?” 

Sirius lets out a derisive snort. “I did.”

James looks at him evenly, “I’ll grab us some Firewhiskey.” 

“I went to see Remus–” Sirius stops unsure how to explain himself. James hands Sirius a bright yellow mug emblazoned with _Best Dad Ever_ on it, filled to the brim with Firewhisky. 

“I–” Sirius hesitates. James told him to be cautious. Told him to keep an eye out. 

“He’s not the traitor.” Sirius whispers.

“What?”

“He’s not the traitor.” Sirius replies, more forcefully. James’ keen gaze doesn’t stray from Sirius’ face. Even as Sirius himself looks away. James’ has learned that Sirius is a short fuse in a world where everyone is a potential lighter. James knows how to handle Sirius at his worst. 

“Okay,” James says lowly. 

“We slept together.” James blinks slowly. “Remus and I.” Sirius clarifies. 

“I mean–” James seems a little lost. “Can I ask why now?”

It’s Sirius’ turn to flounder, “What? What do you mean–” 

“I mean why not fifth year when you guys were making eyes at each other? Or sixth year when Remus helped you study for a Charms exam you were completely prepared for? Or seventh year when Remus went out with that Ravenclaw and you tossed the poor bloke in the lake?”

“Why now Sirius?” James repeats, more softly now. 

“Because I’ve probably loved him since I was sixteen and crazy and lost. Because if not now then when Prongs?”

“You’re a fucking moron.”

“I know.” Sirius replies miserably, burying his head in his hands.

“Did you tell Remus any of this?”

“No.”

James slaps him upside the head. 

“You are _such_ a fucking moron.” Sirius gives a weak laugh.

… 

The safe house is squeezed between a butcher shop and a boarded up corner store. It sits above a laundromat whose eerie lighting casts a soft glow on the sidewalk. Sirius steps out of the rain and lightly raps on the door. He looks down at a pudgy older woman with sharp eyes. She raises a bushy eyebrow. 

“War will make martyrs of us all.” Sirius says with a quick look over his shoulder. 

She chuckles, “Dumbledore always was a dramatic old fool.”

“I'm Arlene. Remus is upstairs.” She looks as if she wants to pry but then thinks better of it. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

Remus is asleep on the futon pressed up against the farthest wall. The kitchen and living room share the same space, the door to a small bedroom has been left slightly ajar. There’s a book forgotten on the carpet, a paperback by a muggle author which Remus used to cart around Hogwarts. 

“Remus.” Sirius whispers as he crouches in front of him. Remus’ expression is pinched in sleep, brow furrowed and lips pursed around every breath. Sirius’ voice causes him to stir, his hand reaches for his wand before his eyes have fully opened, brandishing it towards Sirius’s throat with admirable efficiency. 

“Who cursed you bald in first year?”

“Lily Evans.” Sirius mutters. 

“What the fuck Sirius.” Remus snarls, scrubbing a hand over his face as he sits up.

“Is that anyway to speak to the man who has come to rescue you from boredom.” 

“With incessant prattling?” Remus grouches as he pushes past Sirius towards the kitchen. Sirius feels a small smile playing on his lips.

“So what is there to do up here?”

Remus sighs, world weary or exasperated it's hard to tell.

“Why are you here Sirius?”

“I was worried.”

“Right.” Remus snorts as he opens cabinets in search of tea. 

Sirius scans the kitchen and notices that it’s well stocked, probably courtesy of Arlene. Without prompting Remus begins making them a proper fry up. 

“Marlene’s gone. All the McKinnons are actually.” Sirius says, thinking of Dorcas alone in his flat. 

“I heard.” Remus says softly, “How’s Dorcas?”

Sirius blabbers about Dorcas’ progress and their uneasy truce about doing the dishes while Remus finishes up breakfast. He’s moved on to an anecdote about Harry’s current mischief making when he realizes that Remus is just staring at him in bewilderment. 

“What?” Sirius asks sheepishly.

“Dumbledore’s sending me away again in a month or two.” Remus says instead. 

Sirius looks up and acknowledges the statement for what it is, an olive branch. 

“Why?”

Sirius doesn't bother to hide his curiosity. They’ve never discussed Remus’ work with the Order. 

“There’s a pack in Germany that's very progressive. They hail themselves as pacifists or something. Dumbledore wants me to convince them to lend a hand in influencing some of the other packs to remain neutral.”

Sirius tries not to let panic seize him at the thought of Remus walking into the figurative lion’s den alone. 

“I’m James’ secret keeper.”

Remus looks up and for the first time in months, if not years, Sirius is capable of reading the emotion plainly on Remus’ face, unadulterated shock. 

“You can sleep on the futon, there are extra sheets in the closet.” 

… 

There's a heavy wariness that settles over the flat for the next few days. They don’t discuss their friendship or whatever it has morphed into under the stress of war but Remus talks more in those few days than he has in the past year. 

They sleep separately and Sirius takes care not to cross any lines. Remus peters around the flat during the day, dog-earing paperback after paperback in an effort to dispel boredom. Sirius combs through Arlene’s cheap romance novels and listens to the muggle radio. All it takes is a well placed _think about Harry_ to ease Sirius’ bursts of restlessness, a trick Remus is fond of employing whenever necessary.

At night Sirius chops vegetables and Remus cooks, a limited assortment of dishes mostly consisting of omelettes and pasta. Sometimes Arlene takes pity on them and brings hearty casseroles or heaping plates of beef and pork. A month goes by and Remus is anticipating hearing from Dumbledore soon. They discuss what Sirius will do, if it’s safer for him to remain in Wales and hang up his auror duties temporarily. 

At the end of October Sirius is driven from sleep by Remus’ anxious voice. He’s looming over Sirius’ prone form with a crease between his eyebrows, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Sirius throws the sheet off. 

“Lily and James were attacked last night.” Sirius doesn’t realize he’s moving until he’s standing inches away from Remus. 

“Everyone is fine!” Remus throws up his hands placatingly.

“What. Happened.” Sirius practically growls as he tries to calm the beating of his heart. 

“Voldemort went to their home in person last night. He couldn’t get through the wards.” Sirius breathes a heavy sigh of relief but Remus isn’t finished.

“The Longbottoms were also attacked last night. Crucioed. They’re at one of the converted Potter mansions.” 

“But Lily, Harry and James? They’re okay?” He feels selfish asking, knows that others will be mourning their loved ones while Sirius rejoices in the Potter’s near miss. 

“They’re fine, Sirius. They’re fine.”

“I need to see them.”

“You can’t.” Remus sighs, “You know you can’t. You are literally the only thing standing in the way of Voldermort finding them.” 

Sirius sits back down onto the futon. 

“Why aren’t you worried?” Sirius asks abruptly. 

Remus’ expression tightens and he moves away from Sirius. 

“I thought we were over that.” 

“That’s not an answer.”

Remus gives Sirius a scathing look, “God, you’re all so fucking righteous aren’t you?” 

Sirius falters. Remus notices the hesitation.

“It’s okay that I’m a werewolf as long as all I’m doing is defusing a dungbomb right? God forbid I should be good for more than that.” 

“Remus–”

“My parents warned me you know.” Remus laughs hollowly, “I was so fucking naive, coming home prattling on about my friends, ignoring their pitying glances. I was so sure I was right to place my trust in all of you.”

All the things they have spent so long not saying are suddenly in the open. Sirius feels flayed open and exposed. 

“No one would think badly of you for it, you know. Nobody trusts werewolves. I suspect, after this is over, you’ll expect me to understand that you were only being _cautious_. That it wasn’t _personal_ , just a product of wartime.”

Remus snorts dismissively. How many times had Sirius used these same platitudes to ease his conscience? Hearing Remus lay it all out for him makes it sinister, a violation of trust and boyhood ideals so apparent Sirius has no idea how Remus can bear to look at him. 

“Two years ago when all this started I spent my first full moon alone in five years. I love James, Lily and Harry. I will always love them. But they will never be my family the way they are yours. I’m here to make sure you don’t do something reckless because your family was just attacked.”

Remus shakes his head, the anger dissipating quickly. 

“Get dressed. I’m making breakfast. Then we can talk about what we can do.”

Sirius sits across from Remus at the old wicker table. Remus is in track pants and a well worn t-shirt. They don’t talk about what Remus said. Sirius aches with how much he wants this to be how every Saturday morning starts. Lazy mornings with nowhere to go and without the thrumming undercurrent of war. 

They get word from Kingsley by mid morning. No word on how the Longbottoms are fairing. Sirius has a fleeting memory of Alice and Frank wrapped up in each other near the lake, discussing their wedding much to the chagrin of everyone else. The couple arguing over how to get around magical customs and include modern muggle music.

“Dumbledore wants us to get something for him. Some magical artifact. I would do it myself but well–” Remus looks at Sirius worryingly. “It’s at Grimmauld Place.”

… 

Remus has never been to Grimmauld Place and he stares up at the grandiose home with distaste. 

“God, no wonder you’re such a berk.” 

Sirius snorts.

“It has that effect on people. Just breathe through the nausea.” 

James had visited once, an ill fated visit before a muggle concert in fourth year. James had made a crack about living inside a casket behind Walburga’s back but had otherwise been the pinnacle of pureblood chivalry. This had gone unnoticed by Sirius’s parents. The only thing they had noticed was the muggle tattoo on James bicep. The tattoo had been a dare from Sirius, his was concealed on his shoulder blade. Needless to say all hell had broken loose.

Walburga Black is locking the door to Grimmauld Place with a quick flick of her wrist. She’s bundled up against the cold in all black, wearing a grimace like a crown. Her pinched expression is familiar but the lines around her eyes aren’t. 

“You should be able to circumvent the blood wards.” Remus murmurs, casting a disappearing charm over the both of them. Sirius is not to use magic unless strictly necessary, lest the Death Eaters have contrived a way to trace magical signatures. 

“Don’t you think they would have thought of that?”

“Do you think their pride would allow them to consider you a threat?” Sirius concedes this point reluctantly. 

Sirius feels silly for the nerves making his stomach turn when Remus has spent the last two years walking into werewolf packs alone. They cross the street with no further preamble. 

Grimmauld Place is as Sirius remembers it, almost eerily so. The portrait of Sirius' grandfather greets him with a colourful stream of adjectives. Sirius almost smiles. The stairs creak under their weight and Sirius hears Kreacher moving about upstairs. 

He finds the locket in Regulus’ room. 

“Why does Reg have it?” Sirius murmurs when he finds Remus. Remus doesn’t answer, instead he removes a dirt stained handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wraps the locket in it without touching it. Sirius only has a moment’s pause to wonder why Remus feels the need to carry around a handkerchief in the middle of a war before his mind drifts to Regulus.

Kreacher is dusting the library off the main corridor so Sirius motions towards the backdoor. As they pass the kitchen Sirius’ gaze falls on a bouquet of flowers which sits neglected on the dining table. Sirius’ ears roar and he barely hears Remus warn him not to touch anything. 

There is a delicate cream coloured card with the words _Sorry for your loss_ scrawled on it.

“Why is Cissy sending my mother flowers?” Sirius asks in a small voice. Remus pries the card from Sirius’s fingers and darts a glance up at the second landing. Sirius races past him and barges back into his brother’s room. He had been so concentrated on searching for the horcrux that he had hardly been paying attention to his surroundings.

“No.” Sirius breathes. 

Remus comes up the landing after him and stares into the sparse room. Regulus always took great pride in emulating the perfect pureblood son. He had always kept his room unbearably neat. This room, however, is barren of any personal touches. Frames which had sat on his desk as well as a meager collection of books had disappeared. The room is still cluttered with pureblood memorabilia but none of it belongs to Regulus. 

“No.” Sirius pushes past Remus and bursts back into the kitchen. When Remus descends the stairs he finds Sirius brandishing his wand and advancing on a weathered house elf.

“Where is my brother?” Sirius growls as he pushes his wand into the crux of Kreacher’s throat. 

“I do not answer to filthy blood traitors.” Kreacher wheezes as Sirius tightens his fist around his throat. 

“Where is he?” Sirius snarls undaunted. Remus grabs Sirius’ arm and Sirius is forced to let go of Kreacher. Before Sirius can turn his wrath on the other man, Remus wraps his hand around Kreacher’s throat and grabs the nearest sconce.

Remus holds the light dangerously close to the shell of Kreacher’s weathered ear. The house elf squirms in pain. 

“Do you know what I am?” Kreacher squeaks in fear. 

Remus smiles savagely. Sirius stares at the awful twist of Remus’ lips with something akin to horror. He has never seen Remus use his affliction in such a way. 

“I think it would be best if you tell us what’s happened to Regulus.” 

Kreacher sobs, “He’s dead. The Dark Lord discovered his betrayal and robbed me of my master.” 

“What betrayal?” Sirius barks. 

Kreacher’s eyes dart to the handkerchief wrapped locket peeking out of Remus’s pocket. 

Sirius blanches, “We need to leave.” 

… 

Remus and Sirius return to the safehouse to collect their belongings. Remus’ few possessions fit in a small duffle which he charms with a litany of charms Sirius doesn’t recognize. 

“Did you ever think this is where we would end up?” Sirius is crouching in front of the cabinets and grabbing the remaining non-perishables. Remus sits the duffle on the table and stares down at Sirius with a wry smile. 

“Three months ago when Greyback had his hands around my neck all I could think was _thank god it’s almost over_.” Remus looks around the flat one last time, “So no I didn’t think this is where we would end up.” 

Remus strides out the door with the duffle slung over his shoulder. 

… 

Sirius meets Dumbledore in a café on the outskirts of some coastal town. Remus is in the bus shelter across the street disguised as an aging man reading the local newspaper. Every few minutes his eyes take in the gloomy weather before going back to the sports section. Dumbledore is a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair and tacky brown suit. He wordlessly casts a sound dampening charm so they won’t be overheard. 

“To my knowledge he has only created five horcruxes.” 

“Only?” Sirius mutters under his breath as he stirs his coffee.

“The remaining two will be in the possession of his most trusted followers. I believe the Lestrange vault contains Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.” 

Sirius stops, “Hufflepuff? You mean to tell me that Riddle is using Hogwarts collector’s items to store his evil immortal soul?”

Dumbledore picks the tomatoes out of his sandwich. 

“How do we destroy them?”

“That’s not important right now.”

Sirius almost rolls his eyes. Dumbledore smears mustard stained fingers on his suit and pushes his chair back. He removes a vial from his pocket and presses it into Sirius’ palm.

“Polyjuice.” He says by way of explanation. 

Sirius watches as Remus takes notice of Dumbledore’s departure and disappears into an alleyway a few minutes later. Sirius apparates soon after. 

Remus is already waiting in the clearing, a slight disillusionist charm alluding Sirius before Remus materialises in front of him. A heavy silence hangs between them, broken only by the crunching of twigs underfoot. The tent is magically enlarged on the inside but it still feels cramped. Remus has seated himself on one of the cots and is eating beans straight out of a can. 

“The last one is in the Lestrange vault.”

Remus quirks an eyebrow and passes Sirius the can. Sirius drops down beside him, grimacing at the lumps in the mattress.

“How on earth are we supposed to break into Gringotts?” 

Sirius fishes out the vial polyjuice. Remus snorts. 

“We flipping a coin? Because I think you might pull off the Black madness more convincingly.”

Sirius chuckles weakly. 

“Hey,” Remus looks at Sirius imploringly. “I’m sorry about Regulus.”

Sirius startles and tries to mask his discomfort by shovelling a spoonful of beans into his mouth. Remus smiles at him sadly and places a comforting hand on his thigh.

“He knew your parents had it wrong and he was trying to make things right.”

“I could have saved him.” Sirius chokes on a half sob and shakes his head, “If I had known, if I hadn’t written him off, I could have helped him.”

“He made his own choices, Sirius. Not all of them good. You can’t be blamed for that.”

Remus tilts Sirius chin toward him, “He’s probably the reason this war is going to end though. You need to hold onto that.”

Sirius kisses him. Remus sighs into Sirius’ mouth before breaking away. 

“Sirius–” 

“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen, Remus. I loved you for lying to McGonagall for us. I loved you for poisoning our own house when they talked badly of me. I loved you when you forgave me for the worst thing I have ever done. I loved you for understanding that some things cannot be borne easily. ” 

Any protests Remus has are cut off by Sirius’ near frantic confession. 

“I understand if you can’t forgive me but I need you. I’ll always need you. I will never stop apologizing for making you lose faith in me but even when I needed to believe the worst in you I couldn’t stay away from you.” 

“Padfoot.” Remus breathes out. Sirius smiles into the kiss. 

… 

Diagon Alley is deserted. The few people brave enough to venture out disappear upon spotting Bellatrix's unmistakable mane of dark hair. Sirius crosses the threshold of Gringotts with Remus traipsing after him. Remus has slipped into the persona he must adopt for infiltrating werewolf packs, the same savage twist of lips which he had used to scare a confession out Kreacher adorns his face now. 

When Sirius sneers at the goblins for asking for a key their hands shake. Remus snarls to drive the point home and Sirius has to hide a smirk. As they weave their way downwards, further into the labyrinth of vaults and safes, Sirius is thrown by how confidently Remus strides behind the tittering goblin. He acts for all the world like the member of Greyback’s pack he pretends to be. The cavernous underbelly of Gringotts has always intimidated Sirius. Visits with his parents had alway been laced with warnings to behave and keep quiet, heads held proud and polite smiles tinged with trust fund smugness.

The goblin stops before the Lestrange vault. Sirius almost thanks the goblin before realizing that that would be behaviour unbecoming of the Dark Lord’s favourite. Sirius strides inside cautiously, scanning the mounds of treasure for the Hufflepuff emblem. Once spotted Sirius hurriedly swipes the cup, gives thanks to every deity that exists that Rebastan was in charge of the defenses and walks out. 

Remus and Sirius apparate into Hogsmeade and make their way through the trapdoor below the Hog’s Head. McGonagall greets them with a wry smile. 

“Ready for battle?” She says, Scottish brogue tinged with amusement. 

“Always.” Sirius smiles beautifically, winking at her. Remus rolls his eyes and pushes Sirius through the doorway.

McGonagall leads them towards Dumbledore’s office. Dumbledore is seated at his desk, fingers steepled. He’s staring intently at a random collection of artifacts. _Horcruxes_. 

Dumbledore’s gaze slides past Sirius to Remus, who receives a solemn nod. Sirius turns to Remus in indignation.

“I want both of you to take the horcruxes to the Room of Requirement. I’ve had Alastor and Severus vanquish the basilisk–” 

“Basilisk?” Remus asks strangled. Dumbledore waves him off.

“The venom–”

Dumbledore’s floo erupts into flames and out steps Narcissa Malfoy. A young blonde child sits on her hip, chubby fists cluthing a dragon plushie. The baby gurgles happily and looks at the office in wonder. 

“Ah perfect timing. Narcissa has helpfully supplied us with the last horcrux.” 

Sirius gapes at her. 

“Cousin.” Narcissa says, all saccharine sweetness. She hands Dumbledore a small leather bound tome.

McGonagall ushers Narcissa out of the room. Sirius can hear McGonagall make cooing noises at the child and feels as if that might just be the last straw for his sanity. 

“We must move quickly.” 

… 

The war ends on the front lawn of Malfoy Manor. Narcissa breaks the wards of her own home, spilling blood on her perfectly manicured lawn with the kind of grace only a Black possesses. 

When they land Remus squeezes his hand and takes off in McGonagall’s direction. Sirius gawks at the fortified section of rose bushes enchanted to be carnivorous. McGonagall has them viciously picking off Death Eaters. 

Moody is barking orders while Dearborn takes out a robed figure with a bone crunching _bombarda_. Sirius makes quick work of incapacitating Dolohov with a stunning spell, adding a body binding curse for good measure. 

Sirius tries to find Remus and almost throws up. Not three feet away from him Peter lays dead, flayed open with his entrails exposed. Sirius is nauseous at the sight of the cloak Peter wears, his dark mark stark against his pale skin. 

“Padfoot!” Sirius turns towards James' voice, which fades abruptly to agony as James falls under a _crucio_. 

Sirius sends three stunning spells and a _bombarda_ in quick succession. The Death Eater crumples. Sirius eases James off the ground. 

“You should have stayed home.”

“God no, you would never let me live it down.” 

Sirius and James grin at each other and take off towards the nearest explosion. 

… 

There’s a moment of hesitation when they reach each other. It seems ridiculous that this is the moment when they falter, standing in front of each other covered in dust and other people’s blood. Remus grapples for Sirius within seconds though, pulling him close and wrapping him in an embrace which has Sirius sagging gratefully against him. There’s dirt streaked across Remus’ cheek and his amber eyes are large with ill hidden relief. Sirius wipes at the bit of dirt fondly, marvelling at the way Remus leans in to the touch. 

Despite the casualties, the years and friends they’ve lost to this war Sirius thanks every deity above that Remus will get to see tomorrow. Even if tomorrow is someone’s funeral, the burial of the unnamed, or telling a loved one about their losses. The aftermath is daunting, the destruction overwhelming, but as Sirius clings to Remus among the debris it doesn’t feel impossible. 


End file.
